I saw it coming.
I was putting the clean dishes away and remarked how there were fewer matching coffee mugs than ever. That several of the mugs Mary and I shared had been broken or given away. I remembered how difficult some of those breaks had been.
The widowed attach things to their former life as a husband or wife. A broken coffee mug is one more piece of that loved one that is gone. At times, the well of grief seems endlessly deep.
“I’m through that,” I thought.
I grabbed the last gift Mary had given me at Christmas six weeks before she died, a beautiful red and white Jesus mug with Isaiah 9:6 on it.
For to us a child is born…and his name will be called “Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.”
I spun toward the boiling kettle and brought the top of the cup down hard on a glass container waiting to be washed. A white chip flew across the counter. The crack was fully through the ceramic.
I smiled. A test. A challenge. A thing. Nothing but a thing in my hand. Mary wasn’t trapped inside, nor my memory of her. She is untouchable, safe in Heaven.
After recording the damage for the inevitable blog post, I thought I would toss the lifeless object. But the spring green and pink of the garden that Mary left told me I could bring life to this cup. I don’t know what little plant will find its home here, but I do know it will be happy and blessed.
